Wicked Games
by EnterThroughTheSun
Summary: A Hunger Games Story. The odds were in his favor. With only six names in the reaping bowl among thousands, Brandon Jonze, son of the District 6 mayor, is chosen to participate in the 69th Hunger Games. The seventeen year old boy will face imminent death in a vast outdoor arena, all with the discovery that his name being chosen may not have been entirely down to bad luck.
1. Chapter 1

I run as fast as my legs will let me, whilst the crisp morning air caresses my face. The sun will rise any moment, but I am determined to reach my destination before it does. Arms pumping, deep controlled breaths; I will do it. This route is familiar; I've run it almost every day for the past five years. Hard concrete underfoot, the smell of burning rubber and molten metal in the air, the occasional wisp of dust that invades my eyes, all denote that I am almost where I should be.

Sprinting past some near dilapidated houses that surely are not fit for living in, and dodging a lone dog that wanders the street, I take a left and come to a sudden halt. This is it.

A long row of factories, hangers, and warehouses extend for almost as far as the eye can see. Each of them stands between fifty and a hundred feet in height. I walk slower now, there is no need to run, this is the part that I enjoy.

In the distance, slowly, as if greeting me from a long night of sleep, the sun rises. The first rays of morning light flood over the extensive row of buildings that stand around me. Inside these buildings idly sit the creations of District 6. My home. Everything from cars, boats, to my favorite; hovercrafts. Each of these vehicles are in different stages of completion. The sunlight floods into the buildings and twinkles off the different shiny metals and glass that they are made up of. It's hard not to appreciate their beauty. At least, in my opinion. Some may say this is the ugliest part of my district, but they're wrong.

A full ten minutes pass, and the sun has risen considerably in that time, as I take in what surrounds me. Every other day of the year this area would be buzzing with activity. Workers shouting to one another over the deafening roars of drills, engines, and all other sorts of machines. An occasional loud bang or crash followed by an unrepeatable curse word. If you're lucky, you can catch a glimpse of the vehicles in action. Only a few times in my life have I seen one of the hovercrafts take flight. Slowly rising from its stationary position. Silent, seamlessly. Then, when the work is done, they are plucked from our district by The Capitol as if they were never there and a new creation takes its place.

The lack of action, and thought of The Capitol, serves as a reminder that today is _the_ day. Reaping Day. My stomach turns at the thought. It's about time I leave. It'll take me an hour to get back to my house in the south, and I don't want to associate any bad memories with this place. Not my favorite place. My sanctuary.

Turning on my heels, I take off in a sprint. I pass the dilapidated houses, the dog, more houses, some children already dressed in their formal attire. As the time passes I alternate between running and jogging. Roughly forty minutes have gone by when I reach the town square which is already fitted with a stage, various lights and cameras, and fourteen roped off areas that will soon contain every child in District 6; at least the ones aged between twelve and eighteen. The knot in my stomach tightens.

I decide to bypass the town square and take the longer route home. Sprinting the entire remaining distance, I arrive at my house in under fifteen minutes. Not quite my personal best but not my slowest time either.

Sweat drips from my forehead. I take a moment to allow my panting to subside before I step through the threshold. The familiar scent of lavender indicates that I am indeed home. Quietly, I close the wooden door behind me hoping not to draw any attention to myself. Unsurprisingly, my mother descends upon me in no more than five seconds. I swear she has the hearing capabilities of a hawk.

"Brandon!" her voice is high pitched. She does this whenever she is annoyed. "I wish you wouldn't do your little runs on Reaping Day, don't you realize how much there is to do?"

An audible sigh escapes my mouth which causes my mother to purse her own lips. My mother tends to overreact, especially when she is under stress. I try my best to smile through gritted teeth. If it were any other day I'd likely storm off in a huff, but exceptions can always be made on Reaping Day. After all there is a chance, however tiny and unimaginable, that this may be the last time I ever see her.

"I'll go shower." I say.

"Yes, you're all sweaty." She grimaces slightly as she speaks.

Just as I am about to ascend the staircase my mother turns to me excitedly. "Amma's put a present on your bed! I'm sure you'll love it."

On those parting words, she trots off into the kitchen. I climb the stairs two at a time and head straight for the bathroom. My family are one of the fortunate few that can afford hot running water. Most other people will have to boil water and bathe in a tub if they want to be clean. I strip naked and immediately climb into the shower. The warm water soothes my muscles, especially my legs that have been through a rigorous workout this morning. Being over six foot, I have to crouch in the shower, but the stream of glorious warm rain is worth the inconvenience.

Afterwards, I wipe the steam from the mirror and get a good look at myself. Droplets fall from my mess of short hair the color of chocolate; a delicacy that I am rather fond of. The little drops of water run from my hair, over my sharp cheek bones, down past my muscular arms, until they finally reach my feet. With the amount of exercise I do, it's no surprise I'm in good physical condition. I found several years ago that there was very little to do with my free time. Where most children my age would be caring for younger siblings, or helping out with family businesses, I was left without anything worth doing. Being the son of the mayor, there isn't much I'm required to do aside attend school. So I started running. And I never stopped.

My heart rate begins to accelerate again. I find my deep blue eyes in the mirror. _Your name is only in there six times_. I reassure myself. _The odds are in your favor_.


	2. Chapter 2

I wrap a towel around my body and make my way to my bedroom carrying the bundle of sweaty exercise clothes that I had been wearing only minutes ago. The door is already ajar, and I remember my mother's comments about there being a present awaiting me. Curious, I step inside and my focus is immediately drawn to the bed. Lying on my white sheets is a brilliant royal blue suit. Instinctively, I drop the bundle that I am carrying and walk over to it. The thing looks out of place in my room. Whilst one could say that I'm rather well-off, this suit far too majestic to be any creation of District 6. My hand reaches out to caress the fine material when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Your pa' brought it back from The Capitol."

I don't need to look to know who the voice belongs to. It's Amma. A middle aged woman, likely the same age as my mother but the years have not been as kind to her, crosses the room and places a tray of food on the nearest dresser. Dark graying hair tied back, wrinkles around her eyes and forehead, cracked lips, Amma is not necessarily a picture of beauty, but her face always brings a smile to mine.

"What's it for?" I ask her curiously.

Being the mayor of the district, my father is occasionally required to travel to The Capitol for meetings with various political figures. Very rarely will he return with gifts, and never any this extravagant. He must have done something very commendable if they felt the need to bestow something like this on him.

"Well, what do you think Bran?" she asks incredulously. "The Reaping."

At first I'm shocked, and then horrified. I have never been fond of The Capitol, I can't imagine anybody in the twelve districts of Panem are fond of The Capitol, but this takes me distaste of them to a whole new level. I open my mouth to object but before a single word can escape my lips Amma has raised a stern hand to shush me.

"There's nothing you can do, so don't waste your breath." The look on her face suggests that I shouldn't argue back. "Eat some breakfast."

Begrudgingly, I walk over to the tray she's placed on my dresser and haphazardly stuff several pieces of bacon and egg into my mouth. Turning to Amma, I openly smile with my mouthful of half chewed food. It's enough to even make Amma crack a brief grin. She tells me to eat properly or else she'll feed me as she did when I was a baby.

Amma has been with us for years. Just like the hot water, we are one of the few families with enough money to hire help around the house. We only have Amma so she acts as a cook, cleaner, and – in my younger years – a nanny. My mother, despite being loving and caring in her own way, would turn green at the sight of a dirty diaper. If it weren't for Amma I don't know how anything would have gotten done. My family pays her well for her services, but not enough to keep her children off tesserae.

"Why are you here?" I ask, after swallowing the huge mouthful of food. "You should be at home with your children." A little anger boils up inside me at the thought that my parents would ask her to work on Reaping Day when she has three sons, all of whom are between the ages of twelve and eighteen, to be taking care of.

"Na', I'll get a chance to see them before it starts." Though her words to run true, my parents wouldn't dare not let her see her sons before the start of the reaping, I still see glint of pain in her eyes. I decide not to press the matter. "Finish up and get dressed."

On that note, she exits the room leaving me alone with the suit. I glare at it. Perhaps I should spill my glass of orange juice on it. An unwise thought. When The Capitol ask you to do something, even if it is as arbitrary as wearing a suit, you do it. Besides, I'll only have to endure the thing for an hour or so before I can take it off.

Following Amma's instructions, I finish up with my breakfast and slip into my new outfit. The trousers feel soft as the brush against my legs. I'm not entirely sure what material they are made from but I know it's something I've never felt before. The white shirt is fresh and unworn. Next, I slip on the black shoes that have been laid out on the floor and adorn the jacket which matches the trousers perfectly. Finally, I run a comb through my hair untangling any knots and giving it some sense of direction.

I stand in front of the tall mirror and hardly recognize the boy looking back at me. He is not the same person that was sweating and panting this morning. This person is different. I dread what people are going to think of me. Whilst they will all be wearing their best clothes, I highly doubt that any of them will be dressed in something so extravagant. Sighing to myself, I feel my heart beginning to race again and remind myself of the very few pieces of paper that have 'Brandon Jonze' written on them.

With only half an hour to go I start towards my bedroom door but stop suddenly. I have forgotten something. Hurrying back to the dresser, I open the top draw and pluck out one of my prized possessions. A small hovercraft figurine modeled on the ones that we produce right here in District 6. My father had given it to me more than ten years ago. That was back when we had some semblance of a relationship. Before the job took over his life. I slip it into my pocket and finally exit my bedroom.

At the foot of the stairs my mother awaits in a knee-length dress that was also clearly provided by The Capitol. It is a shade or two lighter than my own outfit and she wears an animal fur around her shoulders. What grabs my attention the most is her eyes. They have been assaulted with long fake eyelashes that glitter when you blink. My mouth opens in shock. I am lost for words.

"Don't we look wonderful!" she squeals. "We could have just stepped off a train from The Capitol for all they know!"

By _they _I assume she means everybody else in the district. In recent years my mother has developed a taste for pleasing The Capitol. Constantly blabbering on about their generosity, and the amount of good they do for our district. It gets worse around Reaping Day.

"Your father is already at the Justice Building but there's a car waiting for us outside."

The car ride to the town square is short. In fact, it was rather pointless. Though it would have taken much longer walking with my mother's ridiculous heels. My aim is to escape the car and head straight to my designated area. I don't want to be seen with her, not when she is dressed in such an inappropriate way. As soon as the car comes to a halt, I do just that. Quickly, I briskly head to the sign in area which every eligible child will pass through at some point. I hear whispers around me, a few of the other children actually point at me, and even the Peacekeeper who takes my name looks a little puzzled.

As usual, I'm directed to the roped off area containing all of the seventeen year old boys. Desperately, I search for a friendly face and eventually settle on Balto. My best friend since early childhood. Even he cannot resist the urge to make a sarcastic comment and punch me in the shoulder.

"You haven't turned into one of _them _have you?" He nods towards the stage.

It's time for the show to begin.


	3. Chapter 3

People are still glancing over at me after my father has begun his speech. Some of them look at with contempt, others with jealousy, and a few just look completely stunned. I'm sure that my cheeks have gone bright red and my palms begin to get sweaty. I try to focus on my father. He is tall, much like myself, but the similarities end there. I look a lot more like my mother with her brown hair, blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. My father on the other hand has grey hair that was one jet black, dark brown eyes, and very thin lips. I'll admit he doesn't have the friendliest face in District 6, but it seems particularly pained today. I choke it up to Reaping Day blues.

The speech drones on, and I stopped listening several minutes ago. It talks of The Hunger Games, the form of punishment that the twelve districts of Panem received for biting the hand that fed them, the glorious Capitol. Two children, a boy and a girl, will be chosen at random to participate in a bloody battle to the death until only one remains. These tributes are taken into the custody of The Capitol immediately after the reaping ceremony where they will undergo weapons and survival training before being placed in the arena.

Behind my father sits Purcee Canington, the escort for District 6, whose sole purpose is to choose two names from the glass balls that rest on either side of the stage, and to then navigate the chosen tributes around The Capitol. To his right are the two of the former victors of the Hunger Games who act as mentors to chosen tributes. In total, District 6 has three living victors. Two of whom, Rafe and Wylda, have developed drug addictions since their victory. They are relatively useless and are not adored in The Capitol like some of the other previous winners. Eight years ago, District 6 found itself another winner; Serena. Every year since her victory she has returned as a mentor with one of the two other victors. This year it's Rafe.

I try to focus on something other than my father's speech for the sake of keeping my nerves at ease. My mind wanders back to the sun rising over the factories, and the twinkling of lights, and the hovercrafts. I reassuringly pat my pocket to ensure my good luck token is still in my possession. It is only when Purcee Canington rises from his seat that I return my attention to the stage.

This is it.

My heart races.

_Six names_.

_The odds are in your favour_.

Purcee approaches the microphone, with a skip in his step, and gives the signature Hunger Games catchphrase; "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" His light green curls of hair bounce around his head as he trills into the microphone in his affected Capitol accent. They annunciate everything. And it's always high pitched. I wonder if we sound particularly drab to them.

"As usual, ladies first."

Approaching the first bowl, he dips his hand in and rummages through the thousands of thin white envelopes before finally plucking one out. Returning to his microphone, with a smile on his face, he calls out the name.

"Esta Shapiro!"

It's not a name that I recognize. I look up at the large screens near the stage and groan at what I see. Over the past few years District 6 had been going through a lucky streak in which only older children, either seventeen or eighteen, had been chosen. This year it is apparent that the good luck has run out. A small girl, only twelve years old, is guided out from her designated area and led to the stage. In the distance I can hear a woman's cries, probably her mother. A part of me hopes that someone will volunteer in her place. Alas, nobody is up for the task.

"Now, the gentlemen."

Crossing the stage once again, this time in the opposite direction, he places his hand in the large glass bowl containing the names of every boy in District 6. Six of them will have my name written on them. Between them, Amma's sons must have at least forty names in there. I immediately regret spending the morning worrying about myself. The chances of my name getting picked are extremely slim. However, the odds are certainly not in their favor. I cannot imagine the amount of pain that she would go through if one of them were to be picked. I've seen the way her face lights up when she talks about them. How her eldest is top of his engineering class, and the youngest landed the lead role in the school play. My heart begins to race, but not out of worry for myself, but compassion for Amma. That's when I'm caught off guard.

"Brandon Jonze!"

Shock.

Fear.

Despair.

The emotions flood into my body.

_Don't cry_. I tell myself. They hate it when you cry.

I take a deep breath. I need to walk. I must walk. If I don't the Peacekeepers will drag me up there. They've done it before. Slowly, I place one foot in front of the other. The boys have already made a clear path for me to exit. I'm walking down the pathway that leads to the stage. Every eye in the district is trained on me. I catch a glimpse of the television screens; I look terrified. Immediately I rectify my mistake. _Hold your head high_. I tell myself. Raising my head, I increase my pace and walk as confidently as I can to the stage. I need to get over this initial state of shock. The games have already begun. The Capitol will already be in the process of sizing me up, comparing me to the other tributes.

Taking the stage, I'm greeted by Purcee who whispers a compliment about my suit. I give a weak smile in return, it's all I can muster. At this point, not throwing up my breakfast would be a surprise. I try to make eye contact with my father but he's looking at the ground. I hate him for it.

"Well, isn't this exciting!" Purcee proclaims into his microphone. "Why don't you two shake hands."

For a moment I had entirely forgotten about Esta. The poor girl dons an equal expression of shock and terror. I reach out and take her hand in my own. As the anthem plays I take one last look out at the crowd. Awe. Confusion. Disbelief. Perhaps people had forgotten that even the mayor's children could succumb to the reaping. The music stops and I'm guided into the Justice Building. This is where I will say my goodbyes.


End file.
